


Padre, no preguntes como he pecado

by akisawana



Category: RWBY
Genre: Daddy Kink, Government Paperwork, Hurt/Comfort, Ironwood's Iron Wood, M/M, Spanking, injuries mentioned, james ironwood's amazing robot dick, lying by omission, qrow branwen's tragic allergy to nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 03:30:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21403471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akisawana/pseuds/akisawana
Summary: Qrow has sinned.Spoilers up to 7x2
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/James Ironwood
Comments: 18
Kudos: 154





	Padre, no preguntes como he pecado

**Author's Note:**

> Note the first: I love writing Ironwood, he's so..._thick_
> 
> Note the second: the challenge was to write something that would...inspire certain people to watch RWBY, and the overlap between "forgive me father, for I have sinned" and "sorry daddy, I've been naughty."
> 
> Note the last: beta'ed by the always-lovely justteaforme, who also kindly provided the title

Qrow in his arms, Qrow’s hands on his shoulders, James’ own hands tight enough on Qrow’s back to feel his too-sharp spine through shirt and cape and James’ gloves, Qrow _safe_ filled something inside him. Maybe not something very large, and in the grand scheme of things probably not as important as it felt, but it was _good_, better than he dared to hope.

“Let the kids go,” he said, watching them walk off after Penny’s bright copper hair; Oscar, whoever he was, and Blake Belladonna with her broken sword and father’s strength in the middle. Lie Ren and Nora Valkyrie were the rear guard, walking close enough their shoulders were brushing, and in front of them Jaune Arc, no longer moving like an awkward boy playing with his father’s sword. Ruby Rose bounced bright and bubbly next to Penny, quieter than he remembered, but they all were quieter now; save Yang Xiao Long who looked considerably _better_ than the last time he’d seen her, her arm was painted golden, was part of her. Weiss Schnee walked behind her, and her steps were steadier than the last time he’d seen her, as well. He’d promised her that Atlas Academy would always be a home for her, and he prayed it wouldn’t come to a fight. Weiss was old enough now that she couldn’t be compelled to return to her father; old enough now that he could shield her behind the law. Most of them, how old was Oscar anyways?

“They’re not kids anymore,” Qrow murmured, but he made no move to follow them. “They’ve seen some shit, James.”

“We all have,” James agreed. Something was wrong, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something that could wait, since nobody was bleeding. His mother would be appalled at his lapse of courtesy. “Let me get you something warm to drink, though I don’t have any cocoa, I’m afraid. Coffee, or something stronger.” 

Qrow stepped back, finally, smirked up at James. “Can I tell you a secret? I hate cocoa.”

James laughed, turned back towards his office. “Coffee, then,” he said. He could give Qrow that, and maybe Qrow would give him a real smile.

“Army coffee?” Qrow caught up with him, his hands shoved in his pockets, hunched forward like a bird pecking for crumbs. He was so weird sometimes. He didn’t argue with James about letting the kids off, and James knew that meant something, if not precisely what.

“I am a general,” James reminded him. “I think by definition, that makes it army coffee.”

“Army coffee can be used to strip _paint_.”

“It keeps my insides shiny and rust free,” James agreed, startling a laugh out of Qrow. Mission accomplished, success sparking a warm glow in his chest.

“I gotta say,” Qrow said to the back of James’ head, once he was looking for a second mug and not directly at Qrow. “This wasn’t nearly what I was expecting. The whole honesty and trust-”

James turned around and waited for Qrow to realize just how insulting what he was saying was, waited for Qrow’s voice to trail off before he said anything worse. “I’m not Leo,” he said quietly, naming the lion in the room. What exactly had gone down in Haven, he wasn’t sure. And that was the problem. He reminded himself that Ozpin had trusted Leo. Qrow had trusted Leo. _James_ hadn’t, Cinder’s crew coming from Haven the final nail in that coffin. Qrow had called him several creative names, and James wasn’t cruel enough to gloat now. Even if he had _told_ them so.

“Not what I meant, James,” Qrow said, equally quietly. He took the mug James offered, sipped at it, made a face. He didn’t take out his flask. “Because of what happened after. The train was attacked on the way to Argus, and then...it was a long trip. I should have brought the lamp here alone. It would have been better for them,” he added, so quietly James doubted he was meant to hear.

“If you say anything about your luck, I will throw you out the window.” James meant it, too. He’d done it before, and he had no qualms about doing it again. Qrow was always fine. Unless… “I _can_ still do that, right?”

“No,” Qrow said, which was mostly a lie. James waited for something to break, familiar by now with the peaks and valleys of Qrow’s semblance. Nothing did, and Qrow perched on the edge of his desk. James didn’t press the issue. Whatever Qrow had done, it couldn’t have been that bad. “I can still do it. Don’t throw me out the damn window.”

He’d known Qrow since he was the old General’s aide and Qrow was the cute half of a pair of half-feral bodyguards bickering over cookies in Ozpin’s office. Whatever Qrow had done couldn’t have been that bad, because Qrow was, simply, a good person. Look at the children who followed him around; eight now, all of them too young to hold their noses and play politics.

“What?” Qrow asked when James didn’t bother to fight the grin. “I got something on my face?”

He did, but James didn’t point it out. “I was just thinking. Are you ever going to admit you’re Ruby Rose’s father?”

“Y’know, one day you’re going to say that in front of Tai, and he’s going to misunderstand, and next thing we know, you’re going to be _all_ metal,” Qrow said conversationally, like James hadn’t heard it from Tai first. Qrow knew what James meant, and one day James would get him to admit it. Hopefully by Ruby’s next birthday, because otherwise he’d owe Taiyang money.

James should know better by now than to bet against Taiyang, and yet he kept doing it, and the day Tai called in all James owed him, he’d be in trouble. Tai’d almost done it once, for Yang’s arm, and that had just been ridiculous. Of course Ironwood had already arranged for one; after what she’d done he could do no less. But Taiyang was a father, always assumed that whatever his children needed, he would pay for it and give it to them.

“Ruby’s not yet eighteen,” James said. “And how old is your Oscar? Fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” Qrow corrected absently, looking in his mug. “He’s not old enough for combat school yet.”

“They’ll need a legal guardian in Atlas,” James reminded him. Oscar he expected to be out-and-out fraud, because Qrow probably hadn’t thought to make anything official in Mistral. Ruby would be easier; he had sent all the paperwork over with Yang’s arm, just in case, and Tai had sent it back right away, lacking only Qrow’s signature, with a box of soft nuomici. “I figured it would be easiest to put you down.”

“They don’t need me,” Qrow swallowed the last of his coffee, swung off the desk. “Why is your kingdom so obsessed with fathers, anyways? Some sort of population-wide daddy kink?” Qrow walked over to the half-full coffee pot, leaned on his hands in front of it. “Or is it just you, Iron_daddy_, Father knows best, we all need to shut up and listen.” He shook his head, didn’t turn around, wouldn’t look at James. “Why does Ruby _need _a father? Why does Oscar? Why are you so damned obsessed with obedience and obeisance?”

“You know why, Qrow.” James stayed back, because Qrow was looking a little punchy and there was something dark slithering under the bitter sarcasm. Because Qrow had a way of crawling under his skin. “The rules are there _for _them, so the children know who’s taking care of them. So we can make sure they’re taken care of. It’s not like I’m asking you to do anything you’re not already.”

“You do it, then,” Qrow whirled around, clearly expecting Ironwood to be closer than he was. “You think it’s so important, put _yourself_ down. I’ll be the fun uncle and you can be the one with the curfew and the rations and the punishments, how’s that sound?”

And maybe James should have done that, should have put himself down quietly. Not as father, or even legal guardian, but made them both wards of the state, just so everyone knew that they were supposed to be here, so the files of what he wanted to give them had a folder to belong to. There wasn’t really any reason for them to belong to Qrow specifically. It would just mean a lot less explaining to people who didn’t know them and didn’t know that they belonged to him. Maybe he should have put Yang or Weiss or Winter down and dropped the matter entirely.

But Qrow was upset about something, James knew, he knew from the moment he came in the room last and barely said a word, didn’t poke at Winter, let Ruby do all the talking. Qrow behind them seemed off, somehow. Qrow _behaving_ was off.

This was better, this was closer to normal. This was Qrow’s hands white-knuckled around the mug, his eyes narrowed at James. This was a fight brewing, and that was the opposite of what James wanted, but when was he ever going to get what he wanted?

“I thought it would be easier for you,” James said, calmly as he didn’t feel. “So if anything happened to them, nobody would get in your way.”

Red tape had gotten in Qrow’s way at Beacon, tried to keep him away from Yang until Glynda came and set the record straight. Nothing like that could happen in Atlas; maybe he couldn’t prevent the chaos of a mine collapse or a riot, but everyone had a place, everyone was connected in a linked net of silver friends and gold family.

James expected Qrow to squawk at him for that, to snap that nothing was going to happen to Oscar, to Ruby. He wanted Qrow to deflate from his bristle and thank him, wanted Qrow to know James was here to help.

He neither wanted nor expected Qrow to spit at him, “Oh sure, so when something happens to them, you know who to blame, stop projecting your _paranoia_ on _me_!”

“That’s not even close to what I said,” James said, was Qrow even listening? What could have happened? “I’m trying to make sure you’re _not_ separated from them!”

Qrow was mad as hell now, and it was a shame he was so beautiful when he was angry, that he looked so good when he felt so bad. James expected him to pull out the flask, and he didn’t, and that just spiked the frustration higher. Did Qrow have to make it so difficult? Of course he did, he was _Qrow Branwen_. “Right, because you’re in charge.” James watched him reach towards his shirt, clench his fist and put his hands down. “And everyone’s gotta listen to _daddy_.”

“I ain’t your daddy,” James ground out through gritted teeth, Mantle creeping up his throat. “And you should be glad for that because if I was I would tan your hide!”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” Qrow hissed, and there was only one way James could respond to that.

Fist his hand in Qrow’s cape, pull him close, and tell him, low and harsh, “You looking for a spanking, boy?" It was nasty and it was familiar and if Qrow wanted a fight James would give it to him. James could be generous that way.

Qrow lunged up at him, less kissing than biting, teeth sharp and hungry against James’ lips. James pulled him closer with the cape, pulled him up on his toes and caught him around the waist, and he felt the same as he always did under James’ hands, bird-boned, light and hollow.

He didn’t say no.

Instead, half-buried in James’ beard, he whispered, “The things I’ve done, you’d shoot me for.”

“What did you _do_, Qrow,” James asked, grabbing Qrow’s wrist, pulling him away, just enough that Qrow couldn’t avoid his gaze. Because honestly, that covered a lot of ground.

Qrow smiled at him, curved sharp as a scythe-blade. “I’m not dumb enough to answer that.”

He was dumb enough, though, to be surprised when James spun him around and pinned him chest down against the cool desk, held him there with one hand. “I’ll just have to spank it out of you,” he heard himself saying, his hand already reaching around to the front of Qrow’s trousers. James was utterly unsurprised to find Qrow half-hard, hot enough to melt. To hear the moan Qrow choked off low in his throat when James yanked down his pants to his knees, when the cool air of the room brushed against newly-exposed skin.

“You can try,” Qrow said, and in the silent pause James could _hear_ him lick his lips before he added, “Daddy.”

Maybe Qrow was onto something, because the word sent _fire_ down James’ spine, the stutter-step in the middle making his cock jump. He summoned the will to ignore it, laid his gloved hand against Qrow’s pale flesh. The tails of his shirt were in the way; he flipped them up past Qrow’s waist and saw the still-yellow bruise stretching from one side of Qrow’s back to the other, half-healed Litchenberg figures sliding down. That was a bit of an answer, at least -Qrow had run into Hazel Reinhart, not too long ago.

He cupped his palm on the curve of Qrow’s ass, and he could feel the shiver on Qrow’s spine as he dragged his fingers across. “Ten,” he said, “and then you’ll tell me why Hazel let you off so easy.”

“Oh I will, will I?” Qrow shifted his hips, settled himself into a more comfortable stance. “Or what?”

James lifted his hand. “Or I’ll give you ten more.”

His hand came down onto Qrow so hard his knees buckled, so hard James felt bad about it for all of half a second before Qrow moaned filthy into his own arms. “One,” he said, looking over his shoulder at James. “That the best you got?”

In answer, James swatted him again, short and sharp and so low it was more thigh than anything. It was about the only place on Qrow’s body James had ever found with any give to it, and he could feel how the flesh spread under his hand before it snapped back tight. “Two,” Qrow said, a little stronger than before, as James traced little circles there.

_Three_ was a backhand that slid off to the left, so light Qrow snorted and wondered aloud if James knew what he’s doing. He arched his back a little, rolled a stretch down his spine, unguarded and thinking James was going to go easy on him.

James had no such intentions. Qrow wanted to be punished? He’d do it, and he’d enjoy the hell out of it, ignore his cock weeping to be freed and tap his fingers ever so gently. “Was that supposed to be four?” Qrow asked, loose and easy.

“No,” James said, and delivered as hard as he could, hard enough for Qrow to feel it. Hard as he could force himself, hard enough to echo around the room close and hot.

“Hah,” Qrow said, or something like that, feet sliding on the floor. “Knew you could do better, Jimmy.”

“Thought I was supposed to be Daddy today,” he answered, thick and rough, dying of heat under his clothes and if he looked very closely, he could see sweat standing at Qrow’s hairline, round crystal shining.

“Earn it,” Qrow hissed, lifting his hips. Then he froze, his breath catching so tiny James wouldn’t have known if his hand wasn’t flat against Qrow’s back.

“Qrow?” He lifted his hands, stepped backwards, cold concern flooding his body.

“Not your fault,” Qrow said. “Shit. Not you,” he repeated, pushing himself up off the desk, pressing his hand low on his chest. 

“Let me see.” James let his hands rest on Qrow’s shoulders, trusting that Qrow meant it. Qrow leaned back into his touch, for just a second.

Then he said, “No, changed my mind, it is your fault. Why do you have _pens_? I thought Atlas was all about the computers?”

“Let me see,” James turned Qrow around, and Qrow didn’t help but didn’t resist, let James drop his hands to Qrow’s hips and lift him to sit on the desk. The bottom button of his shirt had come undone, and James flicked the next. The third was under Qrow’s hand, still pressed tight. “Qrow,” he said. “Let me see.”

“Don’t freak out,” Qrow muttered, and James raised an eyebrow at that because, well. The entire right side of his body. Because how much damage could a _pen_ do? Qrow leaned back on his hands, allowed James to slip it open, push his shirt wide.

Among all the scars he knew so well was a new one, wide and long and evidently still tender, stained a dark purple James didn’t know the meaning of. What he did know where the three small white lines, one at each end and one at the peak of the curve. Surgical drains, telling a story James could read even if most people couldn’t.

Most of Qrow’s scars were the kind hunters invariably collected; training breaking open the skin over and over before it fully healed, or bad luck making them heal worse-looking than they were, a few ragged ones from where he had curled around a bottle of bourbon under a safe tree somewhere and let someone else take second watch. This was different, this looked more like something James wore. This was surgeons fixing something beyond aura’s ability, deep or infected or both. This was ugly in a way that had nothing to do with aesthetics.

This almost killed Qrow.

“You should’ve seen the other guy,” Qrow said, one hand behind his head. Nervous, for what reason James could not fathom as he tugged his glove off with his teeth.

“Who was it?” he asked, spreading his now-bare hand from one side to the other. James was not a small man, and still he could barely reach.

“Some weirdo, ruining the reputation of Faunus and the mentally ill everywhere,” Qrow shrugged. “Don’t think I caught his name?”

That wasn’t what James meant. “Who did you save?”

Qrow slumped against his hand, and James eased him back to lay on the desk, James hovering above him, fingers slowly testing how much pressure the scar could bear. “Ruby,” he said. “The guy was going after Ruby. Wanted her alive.”

“You took it for her.” James bent his head, pressed his mouth where it started. It felt different under his tongue, sharp-edged and deep. It didn’t taste different than any other patch of Qrow’s skin James had licked over the years. It wasn’t the first time Qrow had nearly died throwing himself bodily in front of someone.

And that was why, even when he went dark for weeks only to show up drunk and picking fights, even when he kept arguing for the same old tactics that weren’t working, even when he was wild and petty and sarcastic and those were his _good_ points, James was glad to see him. James would always be glad to see him, because at the core they weren’t so different.

They did it for duty, for love, they did it without looking for thanks and they did it right the first time because if they fucked up they wouldn’t pay the price.

“She carried me halfway to Haven,” Qrow said, his voice quiet and rough and sober. “There was a Grimm stalking us, I was no help…” He trailed off as James worked his way across the scar still so tender.

“And Hazel?” James asked, moving lower, Qrow’s body hard and hot and strong underneath him, his heart so strong James could taste the vibrato on his tongue.

“Oscar,” Qrow said, rubbing his palms against his own face, hiding behind his own ringed fingers, “People keep hitting him for what Ozpin did. It’s.” He paused, his breath catching. “Can we not talk about teenage boys while you’re two inches from my cock?”

“He’s lucky to have you,” James said.

Qrow sobbed a laugh, desperate and harsh, and when James reached for him he didn’t reach back, stretched his hands above his head. “Don’t say that,” he said, soft and broken as a prayer. “You don’t know what I did.”

“You did your best.” James covered the scar again with his hand, sheltered warm, bent his head over Qrow now entirely soft. “You always do your best, my friend, and you always come through for us when we need you.”

Which was why Ozpin, Tai, James himself tolerated Qrow’s many and numerous minor fuckups. What was a broken robot weighed against going into hell and carrying people out? Some carelessly chosen words against information their enemy would kill to keep secret? Whatever needed to be done, Qrow would set aside his plans and say, “I’ll go,” say, “I got this.”

“I don’t,” Qrow said into his palms, like he couldn’t bear to meet James’ eyes. 

James slid up his body, cupped his hand around the back of Qrow’s head, held him still and unable to fly away. “You did the best you could with what you had,” he said, putting iron in his voice. “I’m not going to judge you, out there alone.”

Qrow shook his head, but he didn’t confess, and James didn’t care. He trusted Qrow, down to his bones. Trusted Qrow like he trusted Ozpin, with his eyes open, with differences of opinion, with full knowledge he wasn’t perfect. Whatever sin Qrow thought he’d committed, James would forgive him.

“You got the mission done,” James said, against Qrow’s mouth. Qrow’s hands alit on his shoulders. “You brought everyone to Atlas safe. That’s all that matters.”

Qrow made a noise suspiciously like a snort or maybe a sob, tried to turn his face away from James but not very hard. James pressed a kiss to his lips, his jaw, his neck, Qrow’s fingers tight on his shoulders, his uniform rough against Qrow’s skin.

“Take the win, Qrow,” James pleaded, Qrow trembling underneath him. He remembered Vale, and the army turning, and Qrow’s unshakable faith in him. Why was it so hard for Qrow to receive it in turn? “Worry about the rest tomorrow. Take the win tonight.”

“Okay,” Qrow nodded, and James pretended not to notice how Qrow’s hands were shaking when he reached for the clasps of James’ coat. James kissed him again, and Qrow’s mouth was bittersweet familiar, a hellish year and more falling away. “Okay,” he said again, voice shaky, but he was such a featherbrain sometimes. James was sure he hadn’t done anything too bad. 

Aside from steal the airship, which according to the reports had been entirely necessary. James’ own fault, from a certain point of view. He’d thought to give Qrow some token of authority, some way to cross the border into Atlas that didn’t rely on the still-down network. But it had seemed an unnecessary risk, since not even Atlas shot down birds flying over the border and Qrow spent a lot of time in bars. A _lot_ of time. Just because he’d not misplaced anything important yet didn’t mean James wanted _the passkey to Atlas _to be the first.

James stood up. “Let me,” he said, covering Qrow’s hands with his own. He kissed his knuckles. “There’s a trick to it.” His uniform was more for the briefing room than the battlefield, but it was still a military uniform, still had a discreet zipper to pull that released _everything_ on his top half, hidden snaps to tear away his pants. It was for emergencies, and fucking that lost pained expression off Qrow’s face was becoming more urgent with every passing second.

“I swear your dick looks different every time,” Qrow said, his arms crossed behind his head. He always looked so good ready to ravish on a desk, clothes still tangled around him, his legs dangling off the edge. New scars and old bruises, his bones sharp against his skin, his service painted down his body.

James dropped his other glove on the floor, stood naked before Qrow, wondered when, exactly, it became so easy. “Technology marches on,” he said, his hands on his hips. It wouldn’t be _every _time if Qrow came around more often, if Qrow could come around more often.

_“Some_ of us pick one and _stick_ with it,” Qrow said pointedly, cupping his hand around his own cock which looked perfectly natural, impossible for anyone to tell different.

James thought that was the difference between replacing something you’d lost and gaining something you’d been born without. Regardless, he didn’t have to understand Qrow’s choices to respect them. “I suppose that’s for the best,” he said, sinking to his knees in front of Qrow, nosing at the inside of his thigh.

“If you say _anything_ about shiny objects, I will throw you out the window,” Qrow said as James nipped softly at the skin there, smooth and warm, and he imagined he could feel the heat pooling in Qrow’s belly, so similar to his own.

He couldn’t think of a snappy response, so instead he took Qrow in his mouth, feeling him swell against his tongue. Qrow cursed, one hand going to James’ slick steel shoulder, and James really wasn’t a fan of the taste, the size, or the thought but he’d do it for the noises Qrow was making. He’d do a lot of things to hear Qrow whine like that.

“Beard,” Qrow gasped, when James pulled back to catch his breath. “Why have you never had a beard before? It’s amazing.”

James rubbed it against Qrow’s leg, watched the shiver run up his body and close his eyes. Was there anything better than Qrow, usually so controlled and calm and cocky, coming apart so easily under James’ hands, his mouth? “Didn’t know you’d like it so much,” he said, tapping his fingers on Qrow’s knee. “How am I going to have you,” he mused out loud. His original thought was to bend Qrow over, bite the back of his neck and pound him into next week.

“However you want me.” Qrow lifted his leg and rested it on James’ shoulder. “Daddy.”

Oh, that was a thing now.

James shrugged Qrow’s leg off, pulled him down to sit on his lap, Qrow’s legs splayed over his own and their cocks slotting together, pressed chest to chest and mouth to mouth, salt sharp on his tongue and hipbones sharp under his palms. “On my cock,” he panted against Qrow’s skin, usually cool as night but now burning like whisky. Qrow ground down on his lap and James groaned, closed his eyes against the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him, rolled his hips up in response. “Just like this,” he continued, “on my _lap_, under my hands…”

He trailed off as Qrow’s legs wrapped around his waist, held tight. Self-lubrication was a _smart_ upgrade, he realized, as his cock slicked over Qrow’s hole, as Qrow moaned like a whore against his neck. He could feel each and every rib under his hands, under the corded muscle of Qrow’s back, over his hammering heart. How was he supposed to reach down when he had Qrow solid and strong here, how was he supposed to move?

“Please,” Qrow begged, voice breaking. “I need your cock, in me, right now, _please._” He pulled himself up, a little, fell back down, trying to aim for James’ cock.

“Let me get you ready first.” James managed to tear his fingers away from the edges of Qrow’s shoulder blade, smear them sloppy and wet over Qrow’s entrance. “Don’t want to hurt you,” he said, biting at Qrow’s collarbone. Gently.

“But _daddy_,” Qrow said, wild light in his eyes, and that word was going to be the death of James yet, “I’ve been a naughty boy.”

That snapped something inside James’ brain and fine, Qrow wanted it raw and tight he would get it. James lined up out of instinct alone, thrust in hard and hot and not caring about anything but how eager Qrow pushed back, taking him in to the hilt. Lifted Qrow up and dropped him back down, swallowed Qrow’s grunt and did it again. Spread his knees apart so Qrow didn’t have any leverage, so Qrow dangled helpless in his arms, no _choice_ but to take what James drove into him, again and again and again.

Qrow bent his neck, tucked his head under James’ chin, and James let him, wrapped his arm around Qrow’s broad shoulders -and why was it so easy to forget how wide Qrow’s shoulders were, when so much was loaded on them? Qrow was whining again, and James loved to hear that whine, imagined nobody else could hear it. Knew nobody else got to hear the liquid vowel-curse that poured from him when James started his internal motor, set his dick to vibrating inside Qrow’s body.

The lights flashed blue and red against his metal as he thrust into the moist quivering heat, as he chased his pleasure up, as his own vibrations rattled his spine. “Strobes,” Qrow mumbled, reaching for his own hardness, trusting James to hold him safe. “Fucking, strobe-light, _James_,” he laughed, smiling and real and looking like he should finally.

Looking flushed and well-fucked and delicious, as James held him tight, buried his face against Qrow’s neck, his pulse beating against the sensor hot and heavy and healthy and here. Fast and faster as James thrust harder, chasing the fire of pleasure that ran blue-ice through his veins, building and building, and he just needed, just that little bit…

Qrow cried out, something hot splattering against James’ chest, his body clenching around James’ cock fiery hot and tight as life, pulling out James’ climax in long thick ropes and fireworks behind his eyes.

Sweet darkness, until he opened his eyes, blessed air. Qrow curled warm and safe against his chest. Peace, for a few seconds.

Then they pulled themselves up with the desk’s aid, creaking like the old men they were. James headed for the coffee pot, while Qrow leaned into his desk drawer, digging for the tissues. “Glitter, Jimmy?” Qrow asked, and it took a minute for James to realize what he was talking about. “Strobe lights weren’t enough, your dick shoots _glitter_ too?”

James had been bored and drunk and missing Qrow; shiny things and colorful lights had seemed like a good idea at the time, and the execution had been difficult enough -it’s not like he could have asked for help- to distract him during the long dark watches of the nights. “It also plays Vacuo club music, though I haven’t quite gotten the bass right,” he said, straight faced.

Qrow laughed at that, so hard he almost fell over, had to grab onto the edge of the desk. “You have a party in your pants,” he howled, quietly. "Incoming," he added as an afterthought, chucking the box of tissues to James, who caught it one-handed. "I knew you had a sense of humor under all that military!"

James didn't think the army particularly devoid of humor, and he certainly indulged his more whimsical tendencies on the regular. But he supposed that things like professionalism and appropriateness were too far beyond Qrow for him to appreciate nuance. "Get dressed," he reminded Qrow. "We still have to make sure your children are settled."

**Author's Note:**

> Only God can judge me.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
